


Teardrop on the Fire

by isawrightless



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8471800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawrightless/pseuds/isawrightless
Summary: In which Jason tries to cope.
A sort of sequel to ‘Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars’.–“It’s tomorrow,” Dick starts, staring into Jason’s eyes. “The funeral.”





	

The dream is about to end and it’s pitch black and there’s nothingness around him. He has never felt so smothered before in his life, not even when all he knew was fire and loneliness and the smell of burning flesh.   
  
This is different, this is where he breathes fresh air but the room is scentless and soundless. He’s nowhere and nowhere would suit him just fine if he didn’t feel like his body would bend under the pressure. It’s not cold, it’s not hot, it just is and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing here.   
  
He thinks about moving forward and the idea hits him like something new, like he’s just now discovering his own legs. He berates himself, takes a step, then another and the pain in his chest is too much, why does it hurt like this, he moves and falls and then he wakes up. Exactly like this, just as suddenly as he fell asleep, and although he’s not startled, he’s drenched in sweat and something else that can only be described as fear.

Thoughts swirling around and Dick is in front of him, sitting by the edge of the bed. He should be upset, he really should, no one is supposed to know where to find him, no one, and yet he feels relief when he sees him because it’s familar and real.

“You okay?”

Jason nods, opens his mouth to speak and there’s a glitch and he can’t form the words right away, he can’t find his voice, so he tries to take a deep breath, focuses on being calm but he’s shaky and twitchy and lost.   
  
It’s the fourth time in a row that he dreams about that place and he knows it’s getting a little hard to pretend it’s just a weird coincidence. He sits up, letting the white sheets slide down to his waist, and that’s when the headache hits, or rather, when he’s made aware of the pain in his entire body.  
  
He buries his head in his hands for a moment, he doesn’t want to take any pills right now, he doesn’t want to feel drowsy and risk falling asleep and go back to that room again, he can’t. He wants to get up but his legs won’t listen to his brain, so he takes in all the sounds around him slowly, running his hands through his damp hair and listening to someone yelling at another person down on the streets. Nothing unusual.

“You look awful,” Dick says and Jason has to chuckle at that.

“No shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Nightmare?”

“Why are you here?” Jason asks with a grunt, and then adds: “And by that, I mean: why are you sitting like a creep on my bed while I sleep?”

“You haven’t been answering my calls.”

“So you decided to just break in?”

Dick shrugs, Jason rolls his eyes and then tries to get up only to be left wincing at the sharp pain on his left side. Dick is with him in a second, examining the angry, dark purple bruise while batting Jason’s hand away to get a better look.

“What the hell happened?”

“I made a new friend,” Jason says, and at the sight of Dick’s raised eyebrows, explains: “An Amazon friend. Sweet girl, very gentle.”

There’s more to be said about the subject, so much more, and Jason knows Dick is torn between wanting to know and ignoring all sorts of details in which someone he cares about is put in harm’s way. These days they’ve been avoiding talking about blood and love and punches.

After all, they all end up dead anyway.

“It’s tomorrow,” Dick starts, looking down at the sheets and then up, staring into Jason’s eyes. “The funeral.”

The silence lasts far longer than it should. The emptiness of that dream comes back and hits Jason harder than before. He wants to cry and to forget and to scream and go back to the start somehow. He knows how it is to be dead, all the empty spaces filled with daydreams and worms and failed wishes.

“Ok, thanks for letting me know.”

“Yeah, thanks for letting you know but you won’t go,” Dick sighs, stands up, pinches the bridge of his nose to try and keep that headache from turning into a migraine. At least that’s Jason’s guess. “You know you’ll regret not going.”

“I really won’t,” and it’s not that Jason wants his tone to be harsh, but there’s something about this entire thing that rubs him the wrong way.

Turning around, Dick doesn’t sit on the bed again but stares at Jason, says: “We all want you there, Jason. You should go, get closure. Say goodbye.”

“To _what_?” the question comes through gritted teeth. “An empty coffin? That’s what I’m supposed to do? Stand there and pretend his body didn’t get obliterated into nothing, pretend that maybe he didn’t feel any pain, that he was okay with the fucking risks? That’s what I’m supposed to do? ‘Cause that shit ain’t happening. I can’t, Dick.”

A second of guilt. Just one tiny second in which Jason registers the way Dick twitches and winces at the mention of an empty coffin, the way realization hits him just the same, a second in which the fact that there are no physical remains of Tim Drake in this world makes itself known with a heavy weight, causing Dick to choke on the words he wants to say, his eyes red ad watery, his fear and disgrace on the tip of long fingers, spasming as his heart beats a little bit faster.  
  
The one second that makes Jason want to take it back, all that he’s said, because he knows he’s the only one with the freedom to get angry, really angry, the only one who can shoulder the burden of feeling true hate at this entire situation and he knows how to do it because he’s the one who crawled his way back into this world through dirt and rotting skin.   
  
He thinks he’s about to get punched when Dick approaches him again, but all he gets is a warm hand to his forehead, and he looks up surprised while Dick licks his dry lips and does his best not to break down, not right now at least.

“You have a fever,” he says, takes his hand away and steps back. “Take care of yourself, ok? And answer the phone.”

And then he’s gone.

Being alone has never been a problem, much less a source of fear, but Dick takes the calm with him and suddenly it’s just chaos and sounds and a hot skin in the middle of a huge room with spaces decorated in all the wrong ways. He feels dizzy and sick, reaches for the drawer on the nightstand in an attempt to get the bottle of painkillers he keeps there but gives up halfway through, his right arm stretched out before him as he uses his left one as a pillow.   
  
He stares at his fingers, breathes through his mouth, his head is pounding, his cheeks are burning, he feels weak and tired and he swears he’ll close his eyes for a moment, just to get some perspective on what he should do next, a fever has never slowed him down before, just a moment to himself, to think, to make things stop spinning. He opens his eyes, it’s pitch black and he’s back at it again with that nothingness around him. Will the dream end this time or is he there to stay? He falls to his knees, aching even in his subconscious, and he tries to make sense of it all but he doesn’t even know where to begin.   
  
There’s a sound to his right that makes him alert. He calls out for someone, hey, he says, hey and then the sound is over. He gathers his strength and stands up, still breathing through his mouth, still burning, still sick. He takes a few steps forward, frowning, trying to listen, and as he walks further and further into nothing, he hears chirping.  
  
It knocks him off his feet, the noise, because it’s so familiar and this place is so foreign, but he keeps walking nonetheless, swollen feet and nostalgic longing, he walks until he finds a small cage on top of a wooden stool. It’s eerie seeing something so real in the middle of this darkness, and he stops to examine it, the chirping getting louder and louder until the moment he bends his kness and leans closer to the cage, finds a small bird in there, one he recognizes well.   
  
Jason tries, slowly, to open the cage without alarming the bird, but it’s in vain, and the robin stares at him, tilts his head to the side. The cage is wide open yet the bird remains inside, chirping and refusing to fly out.   
  
The dream is about to end.

“ _Tim_ -” it comes to him in a flash, the name,  and as soon as it leaves his lips, Jason wakes up, drenched in sweat once more, his fever probably higher than before.  
  
None of that matters, the only thing he cares about is the bird, the chirping and the melody it had, the way it constructed words inside his head without him realizing it, the way it carried through the air and lingered on him, a warning and a plea:  
 _  
I’m still here I’m still here I’m still here I’m still here._


End file.
